


Sleep Without You

by swanqueenfic13



Series: Aca-Song Fics [13]
Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Based on a song, F/F, Fluffy, Song fic, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 05:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7788490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanqueenfic13/pseuds/swanqueenfic13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the Brett Young song "Sleep Without You" as requested by someone and I'm so sorry but I don't remember who requested this. If it was you, feel free to remind me! As always, I highly recommend this song.</p><p>In which Beca is so codependent it's not even funny</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep Without You

**Author's Note:**

> Experimenting with POV so let me know what you think!

You don’t know when you became so damn whipped (though if Fat Amy or Stacie ever makes a joke or cracks a whipping noise, you’ll deny it vehemently). But you would do anything for Chloe Beale. The feeling crept up on you very slowly. First, you were convinced to audition for that dumb a capella group just because she came into your shower and smiled at you. Then, she convinced you to come to that stupid hood night party (after she kidnapped you and forced you to drink fake-blood AKA cheap wine) when she batted her eyelashes and pouted her lower lip. And then she got you to love that stupid group and care about those crazy girls by loving it herself. Watching her passion for this insanity, watching her push herself to the limits for it, made you appreciate it more.

So when she gave you her puppy dog eyes and batted her eyelashes and smiled up at you (even though she was, technically speaking, looking down) and asked you to be her girlfriend, how could you say no?

 

You’re not sure how, but over the course of your freshman year, you became dependant on Chloe Beale. So much so that when you quit the Bellas for two weeks and you didn’t see her, you physically hurt. You weren’t even dating yet, but she had always been touching you. A hand on your back. Fingers playing with your hair. A squeeze of your hand. Every little touch seemed to simultaneously calm you down and wind you up, setting your skin ablaze. 

And once you started dating, hoo boy, did those touches change. Suddenly it was nails pulling at soft flesh. Fingertips running over taut abs. Arms gripping each other tightly. Fingers tangled in hair, tugging as climax is reached. Heels digging into backs, pulling each other as close as possible. Hips rolling in time with each other.

Your favorite part of dating Chloe Beale, you decided, is sleeping with her. Not in a sexual way. Because of course, once you moved into the Bellas’ house with her and the other girls, you started falling asleep in each other's’ beds all the time. You love falling asleep with her arms wrapped around you, keeping you safe and secure. You love the way she seems to run ten degrees warmer than anyone else, yet her feet are always blocks of ice. You love the way she acts like a koala, clinging to you. You love the way her lavender shampoo and lilac soap seems to remain in your bed even when she isn’t around.

But of course, she isn’t always around.

Because Chloe is a 22 year old bombshell who loves to go out to clubs and have fun.But you are a 19 year old antisocial introvert who likes to stay home and relax. She unwinds with a few drinks and some dirty dancing with her friends. You unwind alone in your room, headphones on and beats blaring through them until your head pounds in time with them. 

“Are you sure you don’t mind if I go out?” Chloe asks with a tilt of her head. You smile.

“You think I’m doing that thing where I say it’s okay, but really I’m mad and gonna hold it against you?” Chloe laughs a little, blushing when she nods. “I’m not. I want you to go out and have a good time with Aubrey and Stacie and Fat Amy. Okay? Just text me when you’re on your way home. No matter how late it is, okay? And if you get drunk, get a cab. Don’t be stupid.” You kiss her cheek and push her towards the door. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” she calls, blowing a kiss as she goes out to hang out with her friends.

 

You meant it when you told her you wanted her to have fun. You do, and if given the choice, you would tell her to go out and have fun any other time. Every other time. As you’re laying there all night, you wonder how it got to this point. When did you become so codependent that you are awake, staring out your window at the moon just because she hasn’t wrapped her arms around you and kissed you goodnight?

The smell of her hair on your pillowcase keeps you up. You hold it close, hoping that the smell will help you fall asleep, but it doesn’t. So, you go into Fat Amy’s not-so-secret liquor cabinet to try drinking tequila. But even that doesn’t help you. It just makes you drunk, and sad, and you miss her more. You count sheep. You sing. You mix (but drunk mixing never works very well so you give up on that). But you just keep looking at the clock, counting down the hours until 2AM when you know she’ll be coming back.

You imagine you can see her on the dance floor. The DJ is playing her favorite song and she’s screaming the lyrics, jumping around with her hands on Aubrey. She’s watching Fat Amy dance with three different men, luring them in and getting them to mermaid dance with her. Stacie is in the corner, grinding on someone and making out with them. You know the way that her whole face lights up when she dances, and the way she moves her body. You really do hope she’s having fun.

You want her to have all the fun she possibly can, but you also want to get that text. Whenever she leaves the club, sliding across the back seat of a cab with only a fraction of the people with whom she arrived, she sends you a text to let her know you should be expecting her soon. And it always makes you smile because you know that within the next hour, she’s going to be coming home, kicking off her heels with a groan, stripping off all of her outer clothes and sliding into bed with you because she’s too tired to bother taking a shower. You know that once she nuzzles her chin into your shoulder and hugs you tight, you’ll fall asleep.

So yeah, maybe you’re whipped. Maybe you’re codependent and need your girlfriend there holding you to help you fall asleep. Maybe it’s pathetic, and maybe you should probably learn some better sleep habits. But you you are in love with Chloe fucking Beale, and you wouldn’t change a single, damn thing about it.


End file.
